Desktops creaked, and papers rustled as thegirls began their tasks.
The noon train’s imminent arrival hung overthe classroom like a pregnant cloud. The girls settled intoindependent study, and the room grew so quiet, the din of activityoutside came in through the open window.
At noon, the girls carried their lunchesoutdoors and sat in the late-June warmth. The younger girls playedin the schoolyard while Tillie and her friends occupied the frontsteps.
Belle dusted sandwich crumbs off her hands.“I hope the train arrives soon.” She crumpled the paper wrappingand stuffed it into her lunch tin. “I want to see my brotheragain.”
Beckie crunched a carrot and tucked it intoher cheek. “You saw him yesterday. How much can you miss him?”
Tillie slipped her arm around Belle’sshoulder to show her support and soften the blow of Beckie’s words.“I wish my brothers were in the Twenty-First so I could seethem.”
“Have you any word?” Belle offered Tillie acookie.
“None.” In private, Tillie’d long sinceconfided her anxiety to Belle. She didn’t want to contemplate afatal wounding, but their silence terrified her. She bit into thecookie and chewed.
“I pray for them.” Catherine grasped Tillie’shand. “Please tell your parents their sons are in my nightlyprayers.”
Tillie nodded. Sudden tears stung her eyesand she squeezed Catherine’s hand.
Beckie faced the girls in the schoolyardplaying Blind Man’s Bluff. “I told you I’d ask Mr. Kitzmiller aboutJames. I’ve about finished a letter. I’ll post it tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” The conversation stuttered to aclose. No one said so, but surely the girls also listened for thetrain.
“I wonder what’s keeping them.” Belle closedher lunch tin and brushed off her skirts. “Time to go inside.”
* * * *
“All right, girls.” Mrs. Eyster clapped herhands as the girls settled into their seats. “If this morning hasshown us anything, it’s that we’re all a bit distracted today, forobvious reasons. Therefore, instead of our usual afternoonrecitations, I’m going to do something most unusual.” She glancedaround the room. “Grade school girls work on your history lessons.Middle school girls I want you to work on your mathematics, andhigh school girls—Latin. We’ll do independent study.”
A flurry of chatter ensued as everyoneretrieved the appropriate books. Tillie opened her Latin text andtried to settle in, but could she concentrate? Honestly? She beganconjugating verbs, but her gaze slid off her page. Belle peeked ather through her lashes and offered a small smile. Tillie smiledback and returned to her text. Pretending to think, she glanced atMrs. Eyster.
The teacher sat at her desk on the dais,staring out the window, as though waiting for a special friend longoverdue. Almost as if she felt Tillie’s eyes on her, she glancedher way.
Tillie smiled at her and went back towork.
Abigail Hicks raised her hand. “Mrs. Eyster?”Abigail lowered her hand when the headmistress acknowledged her.“Do you suppose the Rebels are still here? In Pennsylvania, Imean?”
The girls put down their pencils. Some closedtheir books.
Mrs. Eyster sighed. “Child, I’m sure I don’tknow. However, I am certain our boys will arrive soon.”
“What happened to them?” Belle’s voicecracked. “My brother is on that train.”
Tillie reached across the aisle and claspedBelle’s hand.
“Again, I don’t know, Miss Stewart. Of onething I am certain. We’ve accomplished no learning today. I suggestyou girls take your lessons and go home.”
Beckie whooped. Catherine and Belle grinned.Tillie opened her desk and grabbed her books and writing pad.Desktops opened and banged closed. Jenny, Libby, and Abigailgiggled together.
Mrs. Eyster never let school out early. “Mindyou return all the more promptly tomorrow.” She lifted her handsand ensured her cultured tones rose above their exclamations. “Wewill have a lot to catch up on.”
Beckie tucked her arm around Tillie’s—agesture Tillie realized, irritated her. Then Beckie threw her headback and spoke to the sky. “Thank goodness Abigail had thefortitude to ask the question. I feared I might go mad sittinganother moment pretending to study when we don’t know if all iswell.”
Tillie kicked at the pavement, resisting theurge to pull her arm free. “I wish we’d hear from James andWilliam.”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.You worry too much.” Beckie tossed her hair, making her curlsdance.
“You don’t understand. You criticize George,but you don’t have a brother in the army.” Tillie bit her tongue.Why did she say that?
Beckie stopped and glared at Tillie. “Mybrother… is only…thirteen,” Beckie hissed through gritted teeth.She released Tillie’s arm and walked the rest of the way in sullensilence.
At the corner of Washington and BreckenridgeStreets, Beckie strode off without a goodbye.
Tillie scowled and squelched the urge to callafter her. When so many boys fought and died, what gave Beckie theright to criticize George and belittle her for worrying about herbrothers? Why did she have to take Tillie’s arm when they walked?Did she have difficulty staying upright?
Oh, Lord. Here I go again, being mean. Shebit her tongue to quell the viper within, but too many times,Beckie made jokes at her expense, or slurred her with veiledinsults. Above all, Tillie hated hearing she worried too much.
Am I being a silly ninny? Of course, Beckiedidn’t try to be mean. That was just who she was.
The courthouse clock chimed out twice, andTillie froze. Dread shivered through her. She squeezed her eyesshut and pushed away horrible thoughts of death, and heaven knewwhat else, to the town boys…her brothers…George. The train shouldhave arrived two hours ago. Something told her it wasn’tcoming.
Chapter 4
Tillie tucked one foot up on a chair rung asMaggie wandered from sitting room to kitchen and back again,wringing her hands and worrying aloud. Her laments grated onTillie’s nerves, but she clenched her teeth and, with effort,remained quiet.
“Where is the train?” Maggie implored. “Whydon’t they come? Where are they?” She drifted around the kitchen,tears shining in her eyes.
Mother rolled out a piecrust. She pursed herlips but said nothing.
“What if something happened?” Maggie marchedup to her. “I know something terrible happened.”
Mother stopped and swiped her hands down herapron. “Maggie, this does no good. You’ll worry yourself intoanemia.”
Tillie sat at the kitchen table, one elbow onthe edge, her chin resting in her palm, fingers curled against hercheek. Her open algebra text lay unstudied in front of her. “Trainsare
